Nine for One
by hawkeye-heart 'n Seoul
Summary: alt. ep. for Rainbow Bridge, Hawkeye makes an offer that changes everything
1. prologue: the game of life

**disclaimer:** Look folks, 1. I'm sixteen; I wasn't even alive when MASH went off the air, 2. If I owned it I'd be rich and it never would have gone off the air.

**A/N:** For those of you who have not had the privilage of watching the Rainbow Bridge episode or for those who haven't seen it lately, here's a little overview. Henry brings a note into the mess tent that says a Chinese unit wants to turn over nine injured American men. There is a large discussion over whether or not the gesture is a trap. They decide to go anyway. One of the Chinese conditions is that they are to come unarmed, but Margaret convinces Frank to carry a small gun anyway. When he feels threatened, Frank reaches for the gun and therefore reveals its presense to the Chinese. In the show, the Chinese officer has a sense of humor and laughs off the presense of such a puny weapon.

This is an alternate episode for Rainbow Bridge in which the gun incident at the exchange doesn't go so well. It's in Trapper's POV for at least the prologue and the first chapter. For later chapters, the POV may change.

Read. Enjoy. Review. Repeat if desired.

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**prologue-** GAME OF LIFE

Hawk once wrote his dad saying that they type of meetings we hold at the 4077 could prolong the war by at least two years. This was no exception.

"Read this." Henry kicks off and gives the ball to me.

"Read this." I pass to Hawkeye.

"Read this." A handoff to Hot Lips.

The Major continues the play if only so she doesn't have to do what Hawkeye tells her. Frank receives and fumbles, and we're left to decide whether or not to take a shot at the field goal.

I'm in immediate support of the idea, almost as quickly as the Majors reject it. Hawkeye sits the fence awhile and urges the coach to make a decision.

Henry, naturally, gives it over to the team.

Radar brings in the map and the arguments begin. Margaret and I do most of the talking since she is the spokesman for their side and so far I'm the only one on the other. Frank frequently throws in unintelligent support for Margaret, and Henry and Hawkeye stay mostly quiet. Hawk though, occasionally pitches in comments on both sides.

It goes on. We all know, too, that it will continue to go on until Hawkeye picks a side. Henry was right about one thing in his ranting, it was a leadership decision, and since Henry didn't have any leadership to speak of, it was up to the team Captain.

"We're all doctors here, with one notable exception. It's obvious what we've got to do. We have to go."

Sure enough. Hawk said his piece and Henry gave the official orders. About two hours and a couple surprising crew additions later, we were rolling.


	2. ch 1: color of life

**disclaimer:** same as before... I don't own; you don't sue.

Read. Enjoy. Review.

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**chapter one-** COLOR OF LIFE

As amusing as it was to watch Frank eat his words, and Margaret's, and load up with us, about ten minutes into the trip I began to wish we'd left him at camp. Despite Hawkeye's earlier warning about the "yellow hoard" references, Frank simply resorted to "red plague."

I probably wouldn't have minded his racism as much if I had known what other stupidity he was up to and what it would cost.

"It's a good thing I brought a piece."

"A piece of what?"

"A gun, ya jerk."

Hawk and I stopped walking. I could sense the blood drain from my face just as easily as I saw Hawk's face go white. However Hawkeye, unlike me, still seemed capable of coherent thought beyond murdering Frank for stupidity.

He managed to plaster on a smile to keep us from creating too much suspicion-- a move which I immediately copied-- scold Frank, give him an order to keep the gun hidden, and make an attempt to crack the tension with his customary quips all at the same time. Then, to my further amazement, the self proclaimed coward proceeded to take charge of the interaction and make small talk with the Chinese officer, Dr. Lin Tan.

For a brief minute or so, I really thought the exchange was going to go without a hitch despite Frank's idiocy. Then one of the guys with a gun moved, and Frank reached for his.

It was a close race and to this day I don't know who looked more willing to kill Frank, the Chinese or Hawkeye.

Dr. Tan, amazingly, did not have us all shot on the spot but berated us for continuing the abuse of his people by Americans and turned to go. Pushing aside our relief at the continued ability to breathe, Hawk and I both started after him with nine other lives on our minds.

Hawkeye again took control of negotiations. "Look, you're doing something decent in the middle of a giant indecency. Don't endanger nine lives just because some idiot wants to do his General Custer impersonation."

Dr. Tan stopped, turned, and seemed to think about it, but he still looked wary.

Hawkeye looked over his shoulder at Frank, "Give it up, Frank."

"What?"

"Give them the gun, Frank."

"I don't take orders from Captains, and I won't be intimidated by these reds."

Of all the times for the ferret to grow a backbone.

Hawk glared at him and opened his mouth as if to snap back at him, but he closed it, obviously not wanting to start a losing battle while he had bigger problems to worry about.

He turned back to Dr. Tan, "We'll dump Yankee Doodle Dummy back at the other end of the bridge and bring the bus over here slowly as planned. You can have one of your guys watch him in case he makes a grab for his pants again. He can stay over there until the wounded are loaded and we'll pick him up on our way out."

"Can we trust that you have no other hidden weapons?" Tan asked suspiciously.

"Yes. Please, if you'll give us another chance, I'll go back with you to see if I can be of any help treating your people."

My gasp of surprise rang out in the silence that fell between the two men.

"You would do that?" Tan's voice ended the quiet.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"You're helping these kids; maybe we can help some more. Everyone in this damn war is an innocent bystander, besides some of the brass. And military or not, no innocent bystander deserves to die for being on the 'wrong' side. Simply, I believe in life. I'm American by chance, military by force, but doctor by choice."

Tan nodded. "It's settled then."

They shook hands and Dr. Tan and the firing squad walked away.

"Frank, get back to the other side and find somewhere were you'll be out of the way and out of trouble, if that's possible. While you're there, tell Radar and Klinger to bring the bus."

Hawkeye's voice was hard and strangely emotionless, and the Major quickly obeyed.

Hawk and I stood in silence at the middle of the bridge for awhile. He made no mention of his shocking deal with the Chinese, but I wasn't about to let it by that easily. "Hawk, what are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm waiting for Radar and Klinger to bring the bus so we can walk with it the rest of the way over and load up the guys we came for." As he finished speaking, he moved to the side so the bus could pass and then moved to follow it.

I couldn't seem to make my voice work, so I grabbed his shoulder before he got too far.

He stopped and let out a weary sigh that belied his flippant words and his earlier confidence, and then he turned to face me. "Nine lives, Trapper. Who knows how many more depending on how much help I can give them. All that at the risk of just one death. I'm going to do this."

My blood turned cold at his mention of his death, and if possible, I was more frightened at that moment than I had been facing the Chinese guns. I guess I wasn't scared for my own life at the time, so I had more time to be terrified for his.

"Let me go," I pleaded. "They need you at the 4077."

"They need you too, and you've got a family to worry about. We're not discussing this. I did this to gain a little trust from the Chinese; it defeats the purpose if I don't follow through with my own offer. Come on, we'd better get moving before they get suspicious."

We headed across the bridge where the bus and the Chinese waited.

The loading went smoothly, and again Hawkeye made small talk with Dr. Tan to ease the tense silence. Radar and Klinger kept shooting us confused and apprehensive looks. They'd been able to tell Hawk was angry with Frank, had seen the Chinese turn away, had seen us call them back, but they didn't know what had happened. Neither of us gave them any answers.

When we finished loading, Hawk pulled me to the side and gave me the patient information Dr. Tan had given him. It was time for him to leave. We just stood looking at each other in silence for several moments before we couldn't take it anymore.

Hawkeye nervously shifted his weight to his other leg and broke the silence, "Well... I guess--"

I pulled him into a hug before he could finish. I fought back the tears that were clouding my eyes as I clung to him. I couldn't make myself let him go for a long time. Eventually though, he pulled away slowly and rested his hand on my shoulder lightly.

"Take care of yourself, Hawk," I said. My voice sounded rougher than I'd intended.

"Try to keep yourself out of too much trouble while I'm gone," Hawk replied. "I want to be there to help you terrorize our fellow 4077 inmates. I wouldn't want you to get court-martialed alone."

"I promised the judge a dynamic duo, so that's what he'll get. And remember, you still owe me a drink in Tokyo."

Hawkeye grinned and patted my shoulder affectionately, and then his smile faded a little as he caught sight of Dr. Tan waving him over to their jeep.

He turned back to me in full seriousness and said, "Trap, look after Radar will you? Tell him there are a couple bottles of Grape Nehi and Orange Soda for him in my footlocker. And Trapper? In case something happens, I wrote--"

"Hawkeye…"

"Trap, there're some letters at the bottom of my footlocker, okay?"

"Hawk…"

"And don't you dare let anyone, including yourself, do anything stupid like come after me, okay?"

"Hawk… I—"

"Okay?"

I nodded dumbly past the lump in my throat.

"Thank-you. For everything." He squeezed my shoulder and then smiled and started to pull the humor-veil back into place. He grinned at me again, only a little sadly, and said, "And no matter how much you want to, don't forget to pick up Ferret-Face on your way back."

I attempted a smile back at him, but I'm not sure I succeeded. With another brief hug and quickly exchanged goodbyes—well, a goodbye from Hawkeye, a "see you later" from me—he turned and walked to where Dr. Tan stood.

They nodded to each other then climbed into the waiting vehicle. Hawkeye waved and smiled at me again as they drove off, but from a distance somehow it was easier to see the fear in his eyes.

The jeep disappeared around the corner and I made my way back to the bus. I wearily climbed the steps and joined Klinger and Radar where they waited.

"Let's go get Frank and go home," I said as I sank into one of the seats. They both shot me a look then looked at each other.

"Where's Hawkeye?" Radar asked, trying to sound more casual than any of us felt.

"He's not coming back with us."

They're mouths dropped open and they looked ready to protest, but I couldn't take it. I got up and turned my back on them to check the patients. "Let's get moving. These guys don't have all day."


	3. ch 2: color of silence

**disclaimer: **same as before

Here you go, the second chapter. I'm sorry it's so short, I'll try to make the next ones a little longer, but I'm making no promises. The third chapter is in progress and hopefully it won't take too long. Enjoy and please review.

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**chapter two-** COLOR OF SILENCE

I spent the long trip back checking the patients. I didn't want to talk to anyone who would ask me questions I still couldn't answer.

I left Frank to explain the reason's for Hawkeye's absence to Radar and Klinger. As far as I was concerned, that was just the beginning of his penance.

That bus trip was extremely different from the one earlier in the day. On the way there, there had been an atmosphere of tension, apprehension, and fear that Hawk and I took upon ourselves to ease. On the way there, we'd talked and laughed and made fun of Frank. On the way there, "we" had been a larger number. On the way back, the tension, apprehension, and fear weren't for ourselves anymore; we had no part in easing it. Therefore those emotions took a back seat to the helplessness, confusion, and at least in my case, anger at Frank.

Normally, any number of 4077 personnel in an enclosed space equals lively conversation and a heavy dosage of bantering. We'd found an exception to that rule.

The groans of pain from a couple of the soldiers interrupted the oppressive silence as the bus jolted over yet another bump. One poor guy stifled a scream.

When we finally reached camp, Radar honked the horn, and the unloading began. The four 4077th natives on the bus went about the work in the same silence that had filled the bus and talked only when necessary. Everyone who came to help obviously noticed the conspicuous absence among us, but no one dared to ask. Except the other officers.

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"_McIntyre, where's Pierce? We've got a chest case waiting," Margaret asked in frustration as she walked into the scrub room. She hadn't been at the bus because she'd been doing triage in pre-op._

"_Get the kid ready. I'll take him."_

"_But Pierce is the chest—"_

"_I know, Major. Go get the kid ready, please."_

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"_Hell's bells McIntyre, I can't find Pierce anywhere. He can't go running off when we've got wounded. Where in God's name is he? And if you so much as mention the still, the O-Club, or Rosie's, I'll tan his hide myself and make General MacArthur a new leather coat," Henry yelled as he followed me into OR._

"_Henry, you want to take the belly wound? I've got the chest case."_

_He opened his mouth to ask again, but he must've changed his mind because I didn't hear another word out of him except equipment requests._

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"_Trapper! I haven't seen Hawkeye since you got back, and one of the nurses has a question on one of his patients in post-op. Do you know where I can find him?" Father Mulcahy asked as he caught sight of me where I stood outside OR on a short break._

"_Hawk might be a little hard to reach right now. I'll take a look at the patient."_

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I managed to put off their questions for the whole OR session, but I was confronted as soon as the last patient was safely in post-op.

"All right McIntyre, Frank, cut the crap," Henry demanded in frustration when we were all scrubbing down. "Where the hell is Pierce?"

Neither one of us answered.

"Look, it's a simple enough question. Answer it or I'll put all three of your butts in slings."

"Henry, Hawkeye isn't here," I finally said.

"I can see that. That's why I asked you where he is."

"I mean, he didn't come back with us. He went back with the Chinese."

That shut him up. All activity in the room, except for that of Frank and I, came to a complete halt.

"The major genius here decided to ignore the no gun rule, and when the Chinese found out, they were going to call off the deal. Hawkeye volunteered to go back to help them treat their guys if they'd go through with the exchange."

"And you just let him go?!" Henry asked incredulously.

I sighed, shut off the water, and grabbed a towel. I looked up and met Henry's eyes for the first time since I'd been back. "You know how stubborn Hawk gets when he thinks he's doing the right thing."

Henry nodded in understanding and dropped my gaze. There was a brief silence before he spoke again, "I really don't want this all over camp."

"It will be."

"Yeah."

One of those silences that seemed to be becoming more and more common around camp fell over the room. Frank finished washing and left the room. The nurses gradually filtered out, undoubtedly to begin the news circulation. At last, it was just Henry, Hot Lips, and I. Hot Lips sank down onto the bench near the door. Henry and I just stood where we were, looking straight past each other at the opposite wall.

Henry was the first to break the trance. He mumbled something under his breath about a belt and headed out the door. I was about to follow his example and plant myself in front of the still for the rest of the day when I caught sight of Hot Lips' face. Concern I would've understood, even expected even if she hated Hawkeye, but the pain and guilt I saw caught me off guard.

"Margaret?"

She jumped and looked up at me with… fear?

"I—uh… I'm expected in post-op," she said, slipping into Major mode as she almost bolted for the door.

Confused but still too deep in my own feelings to make myself care much, I resumed my original course of action. I headed for the Swamp to spend some quality time with the one remaining tent-mate that could just maybe dull the pain of the absence another for awhile.


	4. ch 3: color of discovery

Disclaimer: You know the routine. I don't own it.

A/N: Sorry this update was so long in coming. Holiday trips and writers' block don't make a good combination. Anyway, here's your late Christmas present. I hope you enjoy it. If the description of the conditions in the Chinese unit aren't realistic, I'm sorry, but I have no idea what the conditions were really like. Let's just say that my particular fictional unit is having a little trouble.

The next update may be slow too. My schedule is pretty hectic right now, but I am working and it will be coming.

Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and a Happy New Year!

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_--Chinese hospital unit-- Hawkeye's POV_

**chapter three**- COLOR OF DISCOVERY

I spent the long jeep ride silently observing my new companions. I couldn't help but compare them to the ones I'd left behind. Since there hadn't been much time for introductions, I gave the men names after the 4077er they reminded me of.

Our driver became Padre. He sat with unusually good posture and an easy poise uncommon to soldiers on both sides. He never said much, but when he did, his voice had that same quiet, polite tone Father Mulcahy's had.

The guy riding shotgun with a machine gun in his lap was unnervingly similar to Frank. He became Marion. He rarely shut up the entire journey even though no one seemed to be paying any attention to him, and he just reeked of a "shoot first, ask questions later" mentality.

Dr. Tan, sitting in back with me, remained Dr. Tan. Partly because I knew his name, but also partly because I couldn't tell enough about him to decide if he reminded me of anyone. He seemed to have mastered the art of the unreadable manner.

I really wished there had been a Trapper, Henry, or even another Hawkeye, if there could be such a thing, in the jeep. I hadn't realized just how much of the war our jokes could keep away until there was no one there to banter with.

I tried several times to start a conversation with Dr. Tan, the only other English-speaker in the group, but I don't think he quite knew what to think of the strange enemy sitting next to him. All I can say is, try being in a jeep full of them.

It only took us half an hour or so to get to their camp, but I swear the couple hour trip to the bridge from the 4077 had seemed shorter. I guess familiar company and a lack of shelling can make all the difference.

Dr. Tan hadn't been kidding when he talked of non-stop harassment. In all my time in Korea, I'd never been under such constant fire. Even during aide station duty I don't remember it being so bad. I really started to understand the differences in situations between the Chinese camp and the 4077 when one of the first things I noticed as we pulled into camp was the presence of a primitive and poorly-manned anti-aircraft gun. We at the 4077 had refused any such weapon because we feared it would draw fire.

The second thing I noticed about the camp was just how similar the set up was to the 4077. It was disturbing, to say the least. It was like a vision of what the 4077 could have been under worse conditions. And it's damn hard to get worse than hell. Or maybe there're just more circles of hell than Dante thought.

Whatever the case, I was sure I'd just discovered a new low.

We were greeted by a couple high ranking camp dwellers who immediately were suspicious of the unplanned arrival of an unbound American. Suspicious being rather a large understatement. I couldn't understand a word they said, but the emotions behind them were clear enough. The first one, who I labeled Max for his big nose, seemed more confused and annoyed than anything, but the second one, a slightly taller and pudgier fellow I called Mitch after General Mitchell, was angry and teetering on the edge of thoroughly pissed-off.

So they did what any respectable person would do when a strange invader arrived from the outside; they took me to their leader.

Their CO, or whatever he's called, was unfortunately not a Henry. He was more like that loco general who came and wanted to move the 4077 closer to the front. I called him Steele.

After long minutes listening to an obviously heated debate I couldn't understand and wondering what it was going to mean for me, I finally got to watch Mitch and Max leave the room in a huff. That left me alone with Steele and Dr. Tan.

"So you volunteered for this, did you?" Steele asked, surprising me with the sudden switch to English.

"Yes."

"To help treat our people?"

"Does it matter if they're yours or ours? They all deserve to live."

Steele and Dr. Tan looked at each other then back at me.

Without breaking eye contact with me, Steele said something to Dr. Tan in Chinese. Dr. Tan looked between the two of us then turned and left the room.

"I want you to know, I admire this action you took," Steele said once Tan had left the room. "For that, I will make sure you are well treated while you're here."

"Thank you," I said with the utmost sincerity.

"Mostly, that means keeping you out of the way of those two that were in here. They're not as… open-minded as we would like."

"There's some in every camp," I said, nodding my head in understanding. I made a mental note to reconsider Mitch and Max's names.

"I wouldn't wish it on anyone," Steele muttered. A short and surprisingly not uncomfortable silence feel between us before he continued, "You seem like a decent man, and you are here by choice. It is an odd situation, but I see no reason to follow their wish that you be guarded and/or restrained."

"Thank you," I replied, a little taken aback. At least I knew what the argument had been about, but it was a little disturbing to realize just how close to chains I had been. I resolved then and there to remain on Steele's good side.

"If I know Tan, he'll be waiting outside for you. He'll show you around. You can bunk with him."

"Thank you." I turned to leave the office as Steele turned his attention back to the papers on his desk.

I left the office unescorted. An act I found a new gratitude for in light of my recent conversation. I'd just caught sight of Tan walking towards me from across the compound and was on my way to meet him when we were both thrown to the ground by a series of mortar blasts within the camp.

I hadn't recovered from the surprise of finding myself with a mouthful of dirt yet when Tan grabbed my arm and pulled me to my feet. He drug me along behind him as he ran back inside the office I'd just left and took cover near a pile of sandbags.

The shelling lasted a good ten minutes, but twelve minutes after the first shell hit, I was scrubbing up. Turns out my first surgical experience in a Chinese outfit would be operating on my fellow occupants of said outfit. That was also my first taste of how serious Tan had been when he'd told Trapper, Frank and I about constant U.S. harassment.

The wounds of the victims of the shelling weren't all that terrible. They just seemed worse under the conditions. If I'd thought our conditions were horrible in the 4077, I got a true taste of horrible that day. Even the aide stations I'd worked in paled in comparison.

We worked bare-handed for the most part. They offered me gloves once, but I declined; I decided that it was safer that way. The rubber was so old it looked like it'd fall apart inside the patients.

Their medicine supplies were low to non-existent, and the blood supply wasn't much better. I finished closing one wound one-handed so they could siphon a pint.

There were only three surgeons working who knew what we were doing. Tan and Steele were actually very good, but they were very behind in techniques and I was the only one with formal training in thoracic surgery. That, combined with Max's bad hand-eye-coordination and Mitch's total ignorance of anything medical, made for a very long and tense session. It didn't help either that I was the only one not operating on bodies with familiar faces.


	5. ch 4: colors of emotion

**Disclaimer:** do I really need to do it again?

**A/N:** You may now all die of shock because I just posted! victory dance I'm sorry this took so long, but I really don't think you want to hear my excuses. Anyway, the drama continues and I hope it doesn't disappoint. Oh, and if I haven't mentioned it before, I changed the timeline for this story. Instead of the bridge incident happening before the aide station episode like it originally did, in this story Hawkeye, Margaret, and Klinger have already made their trip to the aide station before the exchange ever happened.

Read. Please Review. Enjoy. --Thank you--

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--_back at the 4077, Trapper's POV--_

**chapter four-** COLORS OF EMOTION

Two weeks. He'd been gone for two god-damn weeks, and the still hadn't gone a day without going dry for nearly that long. I wasn't the only one drinking it dry either. Henry, Klinger and even little Radar kept me company most days.

In fact, the entire camp was slowly drowning in alcohol.

Booze seemed like the only option there was. We needed to forget. Not only did we need to forget Hawkeye was gone, but without him there we needed something else to make us forget the War itself.

OR sessions were fifty times worse than ever before without Hawk's well-timed interruptions. Mess tent food seemed more off-color and even less appetizing when Hawk wasn't there to distract us with his odd sense of humor. Even the drinking wasn't as much fun as it was necessary. When Hawkeye was around, he'd be the first one drunk, and the rest of camp would watch in amusement as he carried out his drunken stunts. Sometimes the rest of us even tried to stay partially sober so we could remember just what he had done.

Somewhere around the beginning of the second week I tried to pick up the slack in the humor and morale department. After two days, I gave up. Every time I cracked a joke, it was followed by a length of silence as we waited for Hawkeye to chip in a response. Every time I threw on some wacky outfit or another, people would smile then look around for Hawk to see what he was wearing. I started a song in OR once, but it sounded hollow and flat as we waited for Hawk to join in. One day I even attempted to pull a prank on Ferret Face. It got a couple chuckles, but it just wasn't the same without Hawkeye's cackle in the background.

Even the Majors seemed to miss Hawkeye, a sure sign that all was not well at the 4077th. The cause of Frank's sudden change of his non-existent heart was fairly obvious; once the camp knew the reason behind Hawk's absence, Frank's subzero approval rating plummeted to new, subterranean levels. Hot Lips was harder to figure out. It was expected that even she would feel a little twang of loss and worry for one of her fellow officers in enemy country, but the extent of her emotion took us all by surprise.

Hot Lips matched me drink for drink most nights and drank me under the table the rest of the time. She hadn't yelled at her nurses once since the exchange, and she wouldn't speak to anyone about anything other than work. She had even taken to avoiding Frank, not that anyone blamed her.

It took me the full two weeks to realize that there was something wrong with our Head Nurse. It would have taken me longer, but she'd been almost permanently assigned to work with me in OR.

_

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_--_**Flashback: eleven days after the exchange**_--_

_Routine. The Army is all about routine, and today is no different. New faces, same age, same blood, same wounds, same war._

_Today's victim: a nineteen year old Private, chest wounds._

_Margaret's assisting as she always does on the serious thoracic surgeries, but I'm the surgeon. This is wrong. Hawk's the chest cutter, not me! _

_Get a grip, Trap. Hawk's not here, and you sure as hell don't want the ferret anywhere near this kid. Henry either for that matter. Not with the way he's been dropping instruments today. Focus._

"_Scalpel." Come on, Houllihan._

"_Scalpel."_

_Too damn quiet. Why can't I get used to a quiet OR? OR was always quiet in the States… Yeah well this ain't the States is it, McIntyre? Damnit, I'm talking to myself again. Talk out loud at least; I'm driving myself crazy…_

"_This kid got lucky." Is that my voice? Of course it is! Shit, maybe I'm already crazy._

"_How so?" Sarcasm? In Hot Lips' voice? Yep, I'm crazy._

"_This wasn't a normal sized gun. Look, there's less powder burning. And the wound's just a little smaller than the ones we usually see. Definitely from a smaller weapon. Maybe one about the size of that one of Frank's." That last sentence came out a bit bitter. So? I'm still pissed; I have a right to be._

_Did Hot Lips' face just go pale?_

"_Sponge."_

_Come on, Houllihan. Hot Lips…? Hot Lips…?_

"_I need a sponge, Hot Lips."_

"_Sorry." _

_I look over at the Head Nurse as I take the sponge. Major Hot Lips just apologized? First she slips up in OR, then she admits it? Maybe I'm not the only crazy one._

* * *

There was something wrong with Hot Lips all right. And I was just bored enough, and suicidal enough, to try to find out what.

I found our resident blonde bombshell in the mess tent idly stirring a cup of our latest batch of blue coffee. I took a seat across from her without saying anything.

She didn't look up for several minutes, but when she did there was a strange look in her eyes. "Well, get on with it," she said tonelessly.

"Get on with what?"

"You're going to ask what the hell happened in OR, so just do it."

"Actually, I was going to ask why that wound bothered you so much. It's nothing we haven't seen before, and you've dealt with far worse."

"I'd rather not discuss this with you," she said as she stood up.

I put a hand on hers as she reached for her cup. "Sit. You'd rather not, but do it anyway."

She sighed, "I won't discuss this here."

"Then where will you discuss this?"

"Is Frank in the Swamp?"

"No, he's got post-OP."

She just nodded and looked me in the eye before walking out of the mess tent. I followed.

Once we were both seated with martinis in our hands, I cautiously asked again, "Now, will you tell me what's wrong?"

Hot Lips didn't look up at me. She hadn't actually met my eyes since we'd left the mess tent. She was currently staring into the contents of her glass, swirling it gently. "I suppose. I really don't have a choice do I?"

"You did, but you chose when you suggested we talk here."

"Yeah."

"So…?"

She closed her eyes and sighed heavily, "You're not going to like this." I watched as she took a drink from her glass and then continued in the same toneless voice she'd been using all along. "You said that wound was made by a smaller gun… one like Frank's."

"Yeah."

"It's not Frank's."

"Who'd Ferret-Face steal it from?"

"He didn't steal it. I gave it to him." I could see her tense as she said it, but I couldn't figure out why.

"I don't think I understand. Just because you gave Frank a present, shouldn't cause you to freak out when you see a wound from the same kind of gun."

"No, you don't understand." She tightened her grip on her glass, but her voice remained neutral. "I gave the gun to him the day of the exchange."

"But you didn't—" I began.

She cut me off, her voice rising slightly, "I gave it to him to take with him." She stopped and took in a steadying breath. "It wasn't a present. Well, it wasn't until after I knew what happened. Then I never wanted to see it again."

"You—" I think my jaw dropped, though I can't really be sure. I couldn't finish the sentence in my shock and growing anger.

"Me," Margaret agreed in quiet bitterness. She stood and began to pace. "Everyone's angry at Frank. Do you think they still will be when they find out? Of course not. Look at you. You're about ready to throw me in the mine field. Not that I blame you. I mean, _I'm _about ready to throw myself in the mine field. Sure Pierce is a troublemaker and thoroughly unmilitary, but this camp needs him. These past two weeks have done nothing if not shown me that." Her voice continually rose through her speech until she sounded nearly hysterical. Then she spun around to look at me. "Damnit, McIntyre! Aren't you going to say something? I'm sure you can think of plenty. Lord knows I have."

I just continued to stare at her, my shock steadily growing and drowning out my anger before it truly took hold. I had never seen this much emotion from the Major. I wasn't about to interrupt the display. Besides, she was obviously a damn sight better at punishing herself than I could ever be.

She glared at me, daring me to say something, for several seconds, but in the silence that filled the Swamp she eventually turned away. She quickly dropped her gaze to the floor after seeing just what she had turned to look at: Hawk's empty, and unnaturally clean, side of the tent.

Finally, after the silence had stretched far too long, I cleared my throat. "Hot—Margaret… Margaret, look at me."

She did. I could see the lone tear on her cheek that she had obviously tried so hard to keep from falling.

"Margaret, this isn't your fault." I didn't realize until after I said it that it was true. It had slipped out as the only thing I could think of to say in some sort of comfort, but as it did, I knew it was the truth.

"Of course it i—" Margaret began.

"No, it's not," I repeated more firmly. "Yes, you gave the gun to Frank. It was Frank, though, that chose to take it, chose to pull it out."

"But I knew he would take it. Everyone knows he doesn't think for himself. I knew—"

"You did not know what would happen. You think you did, but hindsight is 20/20, you know. And Frank did think for himself, as much as he is capable with a brain the size of one of the shriveled 'peas' they serve in the mess tent. No one is in control of Frank's stupidity but Frank. This is not your fault."

To my surprise, Margaret burst into tears. She sank limply into the chair next to Hawkeye's bunk and hugged herself, trying to gain some control and preserve some dignity.

I knelt in front of her carefully and put my hand on hers where it rested, white-knuckled, on her upper arm. She immediately unwrapped her arms from herself and threw them around my neck and buried her face in my shoulder. I had no idea what to do for her. I didn't even understand what was wrong. I rubbed her back and whispered that everything would be all right and prayed that it would be.

"I—I'm so s—sorry…" she whispered a while later as she pulled away.

"Don't be," I answered, not entirely sure what she was apologizing for.

Margaret managed a smile that seemed very sad and a little forced and wiped her eyes. Still avoiding my eyes, as she had been since she began crying, she looked in the direction of Hawk's bunk once again.

When she turned back, there was an empty quality to her that seemed somehow heavier than it had been before. It hit me then. She missed Hawkeye. Really missed him. It wasn't just guilt that had been behind her strange behavior lately.

She looked up and met my eyes and jerked me out of my thoughts. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Talking, listening, comforting…forgiving. That's more than I think I could do if the positions were reversed. I can see why Pierce is so close to you, trusts you the way he does."

I didn't think I could be anymore shocked than I already was, but this was completely new. True, she had been a little less uptight after aide station duty with Hawk, but this was a side of her I had never seen. Sincere, vulnerable… and more human than the true-blue, all-green-and-khaki American soldier front she normally wore. I thought I understood now what Hawk had tried to tell me in the days after he'd returned from the front.

"Thank you."

"What for?"

"Talking, listening…trusting. That's more than I think I could do if the positions were reversed." I paused before adding the last sentence, debating. "I can see why Hawk has fallen for you the way he has."

She froze. "…Wha—what?"

Finally, I was spreading the shock around a little. I smiled gently and retrieved a notebook from Hawk's shelf. I flipped to the last page he'd been writing on: a letter to his father he'd begun the day we left and never finished…yet.

I handed it to her and gestured for her to read it. She looked down only to look back up at me in confusion as she recognized the handwriting. I just nodded and pointed to the paper again.

Watching her face as she read, I could tell where she was in the letter. I knew exactly what it said; I'd taken to reading his notebook in my spare time. It made me feel a little better to hear his voice again, even from a piece of paper. I hoped it would have the same affect on her.

—_the letter—_

_Dear Dad,_

_Your unfortunately militarized son here, again. I am as well as I can be given the circumstances and hoping you are better._

_I assume you are anxiously awaiting any new news I can give you even if it will be old news by the time this letter reaches you (the joys of US Mail). Unfortunately (twice already—I think that's a record, even for Army letters) there's not much new news to report._

_I was sent to an aide station recently. If you believe it, aide stations are worse than MASH units. I may complain endlessly, (you have no idea, only a small portion of my actual stream of vexed verbiage against all things Army gets transcribed onto paper for your eyes… I don't want you thinking your son is even more corrupted than you already do; you might be tempted to wash my pen out with soap) but after an aide station visit, it gets harder not to appreciate the miles between the 4077th and the front._

_The only redeeming factor of that visit (besides the dose of reality and the subsequent gratitude) was the company. I was fortunate (once already—I think that's a record, especially for Army letters) to be accompanied by our lovely head nurse and the only slightly less lovely Corporal Klinger. By working together in even more grueling and undesirable conditions than normal, I think we gained a little more understanding and appreciation for each other. I saw a new side of the Major that I never expected (no Dad, not that side; get your mind out of the gutter). Remember when I told you I'd like to put the moves on the Major, but didn't know how to do that and salute at the same time? Well, I might not have to be so worried about the salute. That'll give me more time to worry about how to get past her distaste for all my unmilitary ways without re-enlisting or giving up my distaste for all things military._

_Speaking of distaste, I believe I have been shockingly remiss in my duties of transcribing my spectacular one-of-a-kind descriptions and disparagings of the mess they serve us in the mess. I think you completely missed out on the tale of the wonderfully weird and woefully inedible creations during the all-you-can't-eat special of re-greased grease on a shingle, lucky you. The tale alone is enough to make you sick for three months._

—_end letter—_

Margaret simply stared at the notebook in her hands. I don't think she even made it to Hawk's unfinished food rant paragraph. She couldn't have if the way her eyes froze on one section of the paper was any clue.

After several long moments, she looked up at me. She seemed to be begging for an explanation or something clearer, more decisive than the rather vague references to Hawkeye's feelings for the Major. I assumed, though, that she already knew more than I did what those feelings might be. She must have noticed how his animosity had been focused away from her since their return, how he'd made a point of having at least a couple rather civil conversations with her without his usual level of innuendo.

"I don't understand," she said at last.

"I don't either, but I think you've got something to talk to him about when he comes back."


	6. ch 5: color of enmity

_Disclaimer--_ Anything you recognize...I don't own.

A/N-- Yes, I know y'all hate A/N's, but here it is anyway. I'm sorry this is short. At least I posted, right? Anyway here goes. And just so you know: italicsflashback.

Read and Enjoy!! P.S.- Reviews are nice too.

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_--Chinese hospital unit--Hawkeye's POV--_

**chapter five-** COLOR OF ENMITY

It's hard to believe I've been here a month already. It's even harder to believe I said the same thing after my first month at the 4077th. It's hard to believe because there I said it, and everyone understood me.

It's hard not to compare this place to the 4077th. After the first two weeks I tried to stop; it was too painful. It still is. I still do it.

After my first month at the 4077th Trapper and I had already managed to wiggle our way out of our first court-martial, found the key to Henry's liquor cabinet, built the still, and run Frank up the flag pole in his skivvies. Here though, there's no time for such sanity. Of course, it doesn't help that, with the exception of Steele (whose real name is actually Dr. Suen) and Tan, no one around here speaks English. It's painfully obvious that the Pierce humor simply doesn't cross language barriers.

I've tried learning some Chinese, but as the camp locals are still somewhat skittish around the strange American, it is a little difficult to come across a willing tutor. Suen and Tan are extremely helpful, but there just aren't enough hours in a day, even the kind of days we pull around here, to keep a camp running, prevent the homicide of an American doctor, and teach said doctor to communicate with the people who would commit said homicide. I picked up medical instrument names quickly out of necessity and far more repetition than I would have liked. In the same way, I learned to ask the quickest way from various camp locations, usually the mess tent, to the little doctor's room. However, I'm afraid that is about the full extent of my foray into the wonderfully confusing world that is the Chinese language.

There are, however, many other things to do with my time. I operate, kitten nap in the corner of OR, demonstrate techniques that could normally help save lives in hell on Earth but don't do much in Hell itself, occasionally grab some chow between operations, and repeat endlessly. To spice things up I might pray for my life during enemy attacks… or "friendly" fire depending on how I wish to see it that particular day. Tuesdays are enemy fire days usually; I've always hated Tuesdays.

This last Tuesday was particularly hated. It was a friendly fire day since I was in one of my martyrish, self-pitying, oh-I'm-going-to-die-because-my-own-side-is-shooting-at-me moods. I didn't have long to dwell on that. The wounded had been in abundant (read: continuous) supply for nearly a week and supplies were even lower than their usual sub-zero levels. That, combined with the still hellish and steadily worsening conditions and nearly three-weeks of frazzled, frayed, fried, and snapped nerves on my part, led to very interesting results.

The day started off normal enough. As expected, we still didn't have any decent rubber gloves, so I prepared myself for the inevitable pain of having alcohol poured over my dry and cracking skin.

"_Let's get down to business. Who's bartender today?" I asked as I walked into OR behind Tan and Suen._

_One of the orderlies shot me a wary look just like all the non-English speakers did when I talked. He quickly decided I was no immediate threat and turned his attention to his CO. Out of his frenzied Chinese I only picked up the word for alcohol, and that was only due to the number of times it was repeated._

"_What's going on?" I asked finally._

"_We have no alcohol. We'll have to wash between surgeries." Dr. Suen said this in a defeated, matter-of-fact tone that left no room for my accustomed ravings._

It only went downhill from there.

It never fails to amaze me that there always seems to be a downhill no matter how far down you think you are. I've decided I hate tall hills.

I hate steep hills more. With steep hills you're constantly rolling down, you keep picking up speed, and there's no way to stop until you hit bottom.

The problem here was the hill showed no sign of having a bottom to hit.

That's why I decided to make one…or die trying.

The high speed sliding before I did was sickening.

_My silence over the sanitation situation was hard to keep. Of course, it was a little easier knowing that even if I did speak up, only two people would understand, and currently those people were just as pissed, helpless, and silent as I was._

_On the other hand, it became harder and harder to ignore the nausea of anger, sadness, and sickness as I realized how much longer this was taking us, how many more lives we were losing, with the added scrubbing time. It didn't help that we had also run out of clean towels and were running dangerously low on soap._

"_I need more AB positive blood here."_

"_Damn. Don't have any right now, Hawkeye. They're tapping the personnel right now. Can you wait?"_

"_Me? Yeah. Him? No."_

_Suen's head bowed in exhaustion and defeat. "Give him some fluids for now. Try to wait it out."_

_I opened my mouth to argue, but closed it again quickly. At the 4077__th__, I would have protested. Here…well, here had taught me a lot about picking my battles. Here, I knew there was no other option, and I knew Suen hated it as much as I did._

_That didn't mean I wasn't devastated… and pissed._

_We began running out of more blood after that. The casualties kept coming, but soon everyone in camp had given more than they should have, and we were still running low. _

_We were running low on everything._

_Except wounded and tension._

"_4.O silk," I said, too tired to remember to ask in Chinese. The nurse looked at me blankly, and I remembered. I repeated myself in Chinese, and her face cleared then darkened._

_She replied with the new phrase I'd learned recently and begun to hate with my entire being. The English translation? Something along the lines of "We're out."_

_I sighed and was about to ask for whatever thread was left when I was interrupted by the 13__th__, by my count, round of shell attacks of the day. I shut my eyes as my stomach churned in despair and frustration, and I tried to keep from screaming._

_I couldn't take any more._

_I knew it with a frightening clarity. This was the straw—hell, the haystack—that would break me._

How I managed another sixteen hours of that I will never know. I try not to think too much about it.

The one thing I do know is something changed. I'd promised Tan I'd help them, not just share their misery but actually help them, and that day I remembered that. That day I realized I wasn't content with being and extra body they didn't need and showing them procedures they couldn't use. They needed more basic help than that.

They needed supplies. Desperately.

Last Tuesday, I came up with a plan to fulfill the promise I made a month ago.


	7. ch 6: color of fear

Hello, all. Yes, you may all die of shock; I finally posted a new chapter!! Anyway, it's a little shorter than I thought it would be, but it was also much harder to write than I expected. This is a pivital plot point, and I wanted to get it right; that's my pitiful excuse for this taking so long.

I hope you enjoy, and please review even if you don't.

**disclaimer: **Nope, I still don't own it, but can you blame me for wanting to play with such amazing characters anyway?

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**chapter six-** COLOR OF FEAR

_--Chinese Hospital Unit—Hawkeye's POV—_

"Damn it all, Suen!"

Normally my manners tended to behave themselves while in the presence of my foreign superior, but when you've been locked into a stalemated argument with someone (anyone) for a long enough period of time… let's just say you get it done in any manner possible and manners be damned.

"What do you expect me to do, Hawkeye?! This plan of yours is completely insane! If I thought I'd heard everything when you volunteered for duty here, this has taught me never to underestimate the recklessness of Americans."

We had been secluded in Dr. Suen's office with Tan as door guard for nearly two hours. It was the week after our mega-marathon session and my brilliant brainstorm, and I had been attempting to explain the workings of said plan to my not-so-fearless leader. Suen was not as receptive to the idea as I would've liked.

"If you'd listen to me, you'd know this isn't reckless! This will work; you've got to trust me on this."

"My trust isn't the biggest problem here! Have you even thought about what could--?"

I cut him off before he could finish that particular sentence. That certain argument had come up enough in this one debate to last me a lifetime. "No, Suen. I'm completely irresponsible when it comes to the consequences of my offers. Of course I've thought of what could happen if this goes wrong! But if we don't do this, you will never help those kids lying in pre-op dying because you don't have the means to help; nor will you be able to help the next group just like them!"

"You think I don't want to help?!"

Dr. Suen was livid just like he had been every other time I'd dared to bring up the helpless situation we found ourselves in concerning the few straggling remains of our previous session. The boys at the end of the line were still in line, but the line had stalled due to the now complete absence of supplies, back-up supplies, and even improvised supplies. All that was left was to make them as comfortable as we could and wait for the best… or the worst as was turning out to be the most common scenario.

Their situation ate at both of us, and Dr. Suen was not about to let me forget it.

"I've been trying to help them ever since this god-forsaken war started! But if you think I'm going to—"

I broke him off once more, sensing the beginning of the cycle yet again. As I interrupted him, my voice surprised me; it was much quieter and wearier than I had intended, "Do you have any better ideas?"

He stopped, now matching the more subdued mood. He looked me in the eye and sighed.

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_--4077__th__ (two weeks later)—Trapper's POV—_

"All Officers to the office. All Officers to Henry's office on the double."

The grey of early morning just wouldn't be Korean without Radar's voice shattering the stillness.

"Henry, remind me to beat you with my alarm clock," I grumbled into my pillow without making any move to get off my cot.

Army cots may not deserve the word comfortable, or even tolerable for that matter, but there was nowhere, excluding the States, Seoul, or Tokyo, I'd rather be after a thirty-five hour OR session.

"Get a move on, Captain."

"Shove it, Frank." This time I did move. Just enough to throw a boot in Frank's general direction.

"It must be important if our drunken leader dragged himself out of bed at this hour."

"Damn. Now I know it's too early. You're making sense. Go back to bed Frank; your brain will shrink and you'll be back to normal in no time."

"Poo on you," Frank shot back as he swept through the door of our tent.

I grunted sleepily. "Never mind, normality restored."

Groaning, I reluctantly peeled myself out of bed and threw on a robe and boots.

From the looks of things when I dragged into Henry's office, I wasn't the only one reluctant to join this non-slumber party. Frank, unsurprisingly, seemed awake. The surprising part was he wasn't the only one who looked capable of full mental function. Henry and Radar were on full alert. So much for restored normality.

That simple concept of _Henry_ not falling over in his chair in exhaustion at this hour got my full attention, and drove away all the biting comments I had planned concerning the interruption of my beauty rest. Something important was definitely happening, and I had the distinct feeling none of us were going to like whatever it was.

"Sit down, everybody. Trust me you're going to want to," Henry said with an almost toneless bitterness and weariness. It scared me shitless.

"What the hell is going on, Henry?"

"Well-- I… Oh hell, there's no easy way to say this…. We have a situation—a situation involving Pierce."

My blood froze and boiled simultaneously in my veins. "What—what kind of…situation?"

Everyone looked warily between Henry and I with wide, frightened eyes, waiting for answers. Margaret looked torn between bursting into tears and tearing Henry apart with her bare hands if that was what she had to do to get to the bottom of this.

Henry sighed and rubbed a hand across his forehead with the same weariness that seemed to only deepen as this meeting wore on. "Radar… show them the letter."

Radar unfolded the paper in his hands and handed it over the desk; I pounced. I was standing with the letter in my hands almost before I knew what was happening. I began scanning the letter while everybody tried to gather close enough to read over my shoulder.

_4077__th__ MASH: As I'm sure you are aware, we have a mutual acquaintance in Captain Hawkeye Pierce. You are also aware, I'm sure, that he has a considerable surgical talent; he has been useful here._

_I regret to inform you, however, that his surgical abilities have out-lived their welcome here. We believe he will become much more useful in another fashion. Namely, he is an invaluable link to your cooperation._

_To get to the heart of the matter, we need supplies; you want him returned safely from his volunteer mission into our camp. Both aims can be easily reached with your cooperation. Neither will occur if you refuse._

_If you agree to offer your help, send word, and we will reply with reassurance of his health and a list of the supplies we require._

_We await your decision._

_--Commander Suen, M.D._

Silence in Henry's office is not a normal occurrence. These weren't normal circumstances.

All eyes slowly left the paper in my hands and cautiously met Henry's, afraid to see a confirmation of the letter's message in his face.

"Colonel?" Mulcahy's voice was even quieter than normal as he broached the question no one else could ask that everyone was thinking, "This isn't… it can't be… true? Can it?"

Henry's eyes slid closed and he nodded slowly. "Any ideas?"

And with that the remaining silence shattered. All our newly forged fear, frustration, anger, sadness, and confusion found their target in Henry as he wiped away any hope of denial.

"What do you mean 'any ideas'?! Henry we're not—we can't just leave him—!"

"There's only one thing we can do, Colonel, and you know that as well as I—!"

"What the hell are you thinking, Henry! Why haven't you already sent back a—!"

The four walls of the office rang with the echoes of our simultaneous outbursts as we continued our barrage of emotion. Henry just sank heavily into his chair and let the words rampage past him for awhile until he'd had enough.

"Everybody shut up for a second, will ya?! Now, sit down and stay quiet. We all want to help Hawkeye, and everybody shouting themselves hoarse isn't going to do anything." He waited for us to comply, his glare daring us to attempt to break this new round of silence. "Now, I'm not going to pretend I know what to do next because we all know that I don't. So we're all going to sit here and figure it out together."

We all nodded dumbly. Henry was taking charge, a move that might have been the tiniest bit comforting if it had ever happened before.

As it was, it was only another disturbing reminder of just how wrong everything had become in the last few moments, and I, for one, didn't expect anything to be right again for quite some time. If ever.


End file.
